They'll Never Know
by ninajunkie
Summary: Innocence combined with blissful ignorance equals Hermione Granger. They'll never know how wrong that statement really is. Or will they?
1. They'll Never Know

**They'll Never Know**

With her smooth olive skin and bounce of curls walking down the corridors, she receives looks from everyone. All the other floating souls would sneak glances towards her when she would be in their peripheral line of vision. When she walks with her books in hand and her head held up high, a silent path clears the way as bodies move left and right and wandering ghosts lay still. No one wants to accidentally touch her in fear of debasing her purity. They thought themselves shameful in her presence.

She was the epitome of rightfulness; the essence of virtue.

There was never a disgraceful object or thought within the area as she graced rooms with her company and faked wholesomeness were bound to those around her. No one could ever reach the level of innocence that she had, so they felt the need to keep tainted and dirty thoughts far away from her. They held masks when granted with her presence; masks to keep her from knowing what really went on.

She was the core of purity; that was how everyone saw her.

When they would look at her—look her in the face—they would only see her through innocent eyes. In turn, she would always see the blamelessness in them. When they mentioned her name—even if she wasn't around—it was said with innocence. She always noticed, but it was all about innocence when it came to her anyway.

It was still how they would see her.

Day after day, they would see her walk into the classrooms ready for the day with a smile that never failed to stay put. Each day they would take notice that the length of her skirt never shortened and the milky skin of her legs were barely ever seen. Her shirt never clung to her body like most of the other girls had worn theirs. Every day they saw that her enthusiasm never faltered.

She had the courage to always stand up to her thoughts and never back down from her beliefs. No one would ever get in her way, even if she was on the brink of failure. Her faithfulness to her ideals was something she prized, as did everyone else around her. She was never one to give up. It was probably the only word, definition, and subject not found in the vast files of information locked in her mind.

Never would a foul word escape her mouth and she reprimanded her friends when they would let it slip sometimes. Anything that was frowned upon in the grand scheme of things, she also thought to be lowly. She never broke a rule or went against what was right—unless it had been for an extremely good cause.

There were subjects that people never told her of or talked about around her; things that people kept from her so that she would always maintain her same posture and mind. Some things would make her skin crawl if other girls let the secrets escape from their pulsating lips. Their minds would go crazy. They went insane from the amount of pressure to not let her into their world—the world of a normal girl.

She was trapped. Stuck inside her books and knowledge. They all saw her as the residential encyclopedia whose life revolved around information and nothing more. She was innocent—so entirely innocent that she was blocked from real life; a life where things are supposed to be experienced and not only read or learnt about.

For days on end—and every day—she could be found in the plush and deep blue-coloured armchair in her own common room, diving deep into the rigid words and sentences in a variety of books. It was known that her special chair was only hers—give the Head Girl her space—and no one would dare sit down in it even to tie their shoelaces. They were scared that certain things could contaminate the chair, and then rub off on her. They knew she could sense it if a soul other than hers had possessed the seat, and it was definitely not a pretty picture if she found out.

But, oh no... words would not be thrown around, neither would hexes nor jinxes. She would smile sweetly, look her victim in the eye, and ever so gently warn him that it was her chair. And just those few words would make the victim's skin crawl, because she could be truly convincing and so demanding and severe, but still so tender.

She no longer felt the need to yell. Nope, she had recently discovered that sweet talk was the best way to go. Fierce sweet talk.

They all thought she would be the type of lover to sit with her other half in front of a fire, holding hands, and whispering sweet words in each others' ears. She would only have the type of relationships that young teens just hitting puberty had.

But one of the characteristics that everyone seemed to love about her was the way she could hold on a conversation as long as necessary. Any single person could sit with her and just talk. Whether it be help with school work or just a normal conversation. However, the other person involved would try their hardest to not let their eyes linger too long while looking into hers.

They did not want to stay into those pools of inexperience because some felt sorry for her. They had so much pity bottled in for her, but they didn't want to shower her in it. Girls would want to tell her what it was like to experience guilty pleasures and guys wanted to shout at her how beautiful she was. But no one dared. Not a single soul dared to take away the only thing she felt proud of.

Some respected her for the immense amount of will power she had to be able to live life that way. They envied her for the amount of satisfaction she held in her life, even when things seemed to be down. One would search for hours, days, and even weeks for something to hate her for, but they would come up empty. She was perfect.

Then again, that was how they saw Hermione Granger.

**...**

That's all that it was: innocent was merely a word associated with her and what everyone saw her as. They only took the time to look at her from the outside.

None of it is a state of mind, but an association. It's not what one is, but what others think of them. No one can ever be innocent. Not truly anyway. No one is pure, wholesome, or untainted. Everyone has a corruptive side, a part of them bleeding and itching to escape. Everyone has a different side within them, one that's very unlike from what's seen on the outside. The one on the inside, scratching at the skin, trying to break out. Everyone has weaknesses.

Even a Gryffindor Head Girl has secrets. Lots of covert secrets.

Once the war had been finished, she was searching for something, anything at all to make her let go of her pretenses in a wild abandon.

Only one person in a single moment. That's all it had taken for her to break loose. Only one person in the whole vicinity pushed the idea of her being innocent to the side.

To him, she had no purity left within her. She had completely lost her childlike innocence. There were no longer any untainted veins running through the course of her body.

She lost it all the first time she called out his name. It had not been done in surprise, anger, or in disbelief. It had happened out of pleasure. She felt it all seep out from her body when her head was thrown back on its own as the waves of ecstasy escaped as he touched her in all the right spots.

Obsessed. She was absolutely infatuated with his hands. Those fingers and that thumb could do thousands of wonders and make her think the why's and how's and then not even think by any means, all at once. They knew exactly when the grabbing was hard enough and the exact position to be put on her warm skin. She loved it how she would lay on her back, her breathing becoming erratic, and his hands would touch her abdomen, just light enough to make her beg.

Oh and how she begged. Not for more knowledge or for the permission for another book. But she begged for more passion; more euphoric feelings. She begged him to end the torture within her. When he would thrust in her, she would beg for more. She would beg for him to push a little farther... a little harder.

He is the only one to know the feeling of her fingernails digging deep into the skin of his back when she rocks back and forth to match his rhythms. Only he knows how her hands tighten the grip she would have on the silk of his sheets when she reaches her climax. He will be the only one to witness her toes curl and her hips buck when he initiates contact to the skin between her legs.

No one else will ever know.

They'll never know that when lightning strikes outside she's not scared. She's never frightened because she's being filled with warmth. She moves under him, and he pushes into her. He grabs her hips when she lowers herself onto him as she moves on top of him. They'll never know that she can't hear the roars of thunder because her screams drown them out.

No one would ever know the real reason why she smiles when they look at her and his delightful smirks when they look through him. She laughs internally when she's absolutely positive that they still think of her as innocent little Granger.

They still believe that when she has disappeared in the middle of the night that she has gone off to do more studying. That she has reappeared in some section of the library. And they're all half right. She would sometimes materialize at the library, but not to study.

No one will ever know that the wood splinters she has in her back are from being fucked on the table tops and not from leaning too hard on the back of chairs when indulged in a volume of words. They still think that she has yet to kiss a boy. But they'll never know that he's the one who has trailed his hot kisses on every inch of her body and that her tongue has tasted all of him.

Power. She felt it running alongside with mystery throughout her body. She had the power over everyone to make them think that she could have never changed. Laughter fills her as she remembers the authority she has to make them wonder if she will ever change. How could they be so naïve while thinking she was the foolish one? She indulges in the supremacy she has over them all to make them believe she would never say the word 'fuck' and 'please' in the same sentence while it was happening.

Though, most of all, she loved the power she had while with him. She knew the exact spots to touch him and kiss him and lick him that would drive him up the wall. She knew the exact types of conversations to start that would make him whimper and moan while her hips were on top of his.

Everyone had been wrong. She was not the type for saying sweet nothings in his ear. She was type to whisper mischievous and impish words while sucking on his ear lobe. All she had to do was say 'touch me' seductively in his ear and he would obey. She loved the power he gave her.

He is the only one that knows that bit of information.

No one would ever know that when she was lying in bed, her back arched for him. They would never know that she had discovered the many uses of leg movements while lying in his bed.

They would never know that her eyes did more than just look at letters on a page. Those golden-brown eyes would observe his body. They took notice of the way his arms flexed when he spread her legs apart to gain access to where her true innocence had once lain. Her eyes would see how his face released the built up frustration after he would let go right along with her.

Nobody else would know that her lips had better uses than to answer professors' questions and to give orders to her group of prefects. Only he knew how warm they felt around him when she decided to return the favors he did for her. He would always know how soft her kisses were on his chest and she lingered them on his lips, begging him for more excitement.

They'll never know that she'll be the only one to scream out Draco Malfoy's name in pleasure.


	2. Now They Know

**Now They Know**

With his rough pale skin and absence of guilt, Draco received looks from everyone while he walked down the corridors. He had always been used to glances and stares and even the occasional grimace, but no one would want to touch him in fear of disturbing his mindless self-importance. Now, the glances were accompanied with secret thoughts of twisted shame and misunderstood authority.

He was the expert of superiority; the core of blood-purity.

However, those thoughts and ideals had come to change. As of late, those glances and stares were formed from a growing curiosity towards the man whose family turned against their old principles and made a name for themselves on the same side of those that killed Voldemort. Long gone were the looks of hatred and loathing for the boy. Far away were the people who would cower in his presence.

Despite the change of heart and sides, no one thought that the Slytherin would be capable of drastically changing the spirit of a single person, enough to spend nights behind locked doors with none other than their own female savior.

Regardless of what everyone thought they knew about him, there would be plenty more to discover.

Days would pass quickly and then sometimes they would slow down, offering him the opportunity to finally enjoy the act he was engaged in. Some nights would offer him pleasure and most days would offer him convenience with sly looks and fulfilling slight touches.

He still managed to gain access to many hidden rooms in the ancient castle, find more hidden alcoves, and by chance hit upon the Room of Requirement once more. With secrets locked inside of his core, his rough hands would push her against a wall, crash his lips onto hers, and forget any details of how his path in life got him in tangled up in her legs.

Only one detail would stick out in his mind as he took her with passionate friction; she was the only person that could make him lose his mind. Whether it was in the Restricted Section of the library, in the abandoned sixth floor hallway, or in the Astronomy tower, she was the one that was able to take every last ounce of his incorruptibility and yet make him feel tainted again.

He knew it wasn't just in their hidden corners, but also in front of the entire school as well. Just one secretive glance from her across the Great Hall during dinner would make him feel corrupt again. Certain things they would do added fuel to the fire in his chest, knowing that the thrill of being caught added sweltering sparks to it.

Some days, she would bump into him through the crowded hall, blame it on her heavy bag, scowl at him, and then brush it off with a secretive smile and a hidden blush on her cheeks. If her friends would notice it, she would blame it on how frustrated she was with the upcoming exams. Lucky for them it was a single occurrence.

Other times, her fingertips would purposely brush his hand as they would both reach for needed ingredients in the potions closet. No one took note of the slight change in the shape of her lips when he would peek at her through covered eyes. Normally, their secret open encounters would pass unnoticed by everyone.

Thinking that they'll never know, happened to be their biggest mistake.

**...**

She was there, sitting ever so silently, her eyes inventing a form of concentration. There he was, on the complete opposite side of the room, fidgeting his quill in between his fingers. They were both there, trying desperately to avoid each other's gazes. Thick tension filled up the classroom, but it appeared that only two students were paying attention. How deceiving.

Quill in hand, she was scratching away at the parchment, inscribing notes for her keeping. Yet again, that was deceitful.

Anyone who's anyone at all knows Hermione Granger. Everybody who's anyone thinks they know her inside and out. To everyone else in that room it appeared that her hands were taking notes, but there were definitely things that not everyone knew about her. Did anyone ever stop to imagine that there was something else important in her life other than school work?

Of course not, because remember, this is Hermione Granger: top student to both groups of seventh years, Hogwarts Head Girl, one third of the undefeated Golden Trio, and still the smartest witch to grace the halls of Hogwarts in well over a century. Her name and picture have been printed in every type of media since the fall of Voldemort; because of those things, they all believe to know all the facts.

Her scribbling stopped for a moment and it appeared to everyone that she was pondering how to organize her professor's teachings onto the parchment. If anyone would ever look at her notes, they would see that a message appeared, faded in the center, and then disappeared in two blinks of her eyes. A secretive smile crept upon her lips as she continued to write.

Draco Malfoy sat there, his eyes shifting in every direction, unable to keep his eagle feather quill still in his hand. He'd stop only every so often, scribble something on his parchment, move the corners of his mouth a bit, and then continue with his fidgeting.

There quite possibly could have been a few others that wondered curiously about this version of Malfoy, but it was also quite possible that no one bothered to pay him any attention.

Finally, Professor Flitwick had stopped his lesson for the day and footsteps were heard as the students shuffled out of the room. He tossed his now bare piece of parchment and quill into his bag and walked out after giving an invisible greeting of departure towards someone's direction.

The last student out of the room was the one who had been secretly the most distracted despite anyone's thoughts.

Her book bag weighed heavy with school books and her collection of quills and parchment, nothing more. Why would she ever bother to have anything else in her bag, anything frivolous enough that wouldn't be used in her classes?

They'll never know that this would be the exact question everyone would soon whisper.

**...**

She didn't dare acknowledge the burning sensation of eyes tearing into the back of her head, straight through the brown frizzy curls. Quite possibly there were twenty-some-odd pairs of different coloured irises coming from behind and all she wondered is why she always chose to sit at the front of the class.

All the students in the Charms room knew that they were all staring not-so-secretly at her. It's as if they were in it together, a formulated arrangement that she had missed out on the planning of. However, she had no idea that they also knew that she only cared if one certain pair of gray eyes were looking her way. Judging eyes mattered not, only his hunger-filled gaze mattered to her at the end of the day. But they didn't know that many details.

Suddenly, the weight of their stares was beginning to weigh heavily on her shoulders and neck and she wanted desperately to just run out of the room. However, she didn't dare flinch, recoil, or make any movement to acknowledge their blazing presence.

Ignoring her professor's words, she tried replaying her entire day to figure out what she had done terribly wrong to receive such intense death stares. Then she remembered the crazed looks floating around through her peripheral vision as she climbed down the spiral staircase to the Gryffindor Common Room.

It had been the first human interaction she had engaged in that morning, so between dinner the night before and her morning decent, something had gone wrong.

Then she remembered.

_Bloody hell!_

The night before, she had never returned to the Gryffindor tower before curfew and the one thing she knew about everyone's impression of her, was that she _never_ missed curfew.

Instead she had been walking outside through the early, cold spring air towards the greenhouses. She had been treated unkindly when hard hands had pulled off her jumper, lifted up her skirt, and been taken advantage of right next to the Mandrakes.

However, she was now certain that someone must have seen her sneak back in sometime after midnight had struck.

Frightened, she pulled her secret parchment, scribbled a note with a time and place on it, and waited until it disappeared. Now, she definitely didn't dare move her head towards a blond man's direction in fear that everyone would figure them out ever further.

Luckily, Professor Flitwick shortly dismissed them all.

Hermione was the first to rush out.

**...**

"They know."

"Who knows what?"

"About us." Her voice was in such a whisper that even the walls close to them never heard her say anything. "Everyone."

He grabbed her shoulders and stared seriously at her, his face void of any expression.

"Are you certain?"

"Positive," she answered, sighing heavily.

"Is it a Hermione-is-bloody-scared-positive or a Hermione-is-always right-positive?"

She thought about it a minute, "a bit of both."

"What makes you think that they know?"

"Last night!" she hissed through her teeth. "We should have never gone outside the castle!"

"Bullocks," he said, his panicked state calming down.

In her own frantic state, she proposed the question of what should be done about the situation, knowing very well how unprepared she would be for everyone's verbal reactions. He, who had been used to death glares and unhidden whispers, had casually mentioned for her to yell out a very Hermionesque _"shove off" _to anyone who dared raise their eyebrows at her.

Purity talk had never bothered before, he told her, even when she knew they were talking about it when she turned away. Talk of her innocence never concerned her, especially when they both had been secretly running to every corner of Hogwarts, stealing kisses, feeling hot touches, and screaming each others' names.

He asked with a seductive whisper in her ear if the way she left deep marks in his back would change if her sidekicks knew. Her only response was a hushed moan before she shook her head.

When the morning's light was barely noticeable on the horizon behind the Black Lake, Hermione forced her three closest friends to sit still and quiet in the Gryffindor Common Room. Their eyes followed her as she paced back and forth frantically, her gentle hands becoming angry with her uncontrollable hair. She would huff down into her armchair that had been deemed her throne, scratch at the fabric on the ends of the arms, and jump back out again.

Her words finally escaped her lips in such a demanding tone, stating what had been occurring (leaving out practically every single detail) and they would accept the situation or have the guilt crushed upon them when she would be expelled for hexing almost every last breath out of them.

The black haired one simply took his glasses off his face, attempted to clean them with the fabric of his shirt and shrugged as he slid them back on. The slight smile that played on his lips didn't go unnoticed by her, even with the low light in the room.

The red haired one that had her hair in the sloppiest mess atop her head swiftly elbowed her brother beside her, winked at the woman in front of hair, and then tucked her feet under legs.

The aforementioned brother still had the fuming look on his face, despite his sister attempting to distinguish it. He gave a grunt in the direction of the still pacing Hermione, and stormed up the stairs to sulk in his bed.

The other two friends that were left behind waved his actions away and told their friend to ignore him. Without another word, they left Hermione alone in the room, with thoughts swirling in her head.

Confused, disgruntled, and worrisome, Hermione couldn't help but feel something different.

However, a few hours later in a newfound corner of the castle, the never pure Hermione and the completely tainted Draco were testing out their theory. Nothing had changed one bit now that the people that mattered knew.

While his hands roamed over her exposed body, touching every available inch, she wondered why they didn't let their secrets out sooner.


End file.
